Fading
by captainbeagle
Summary: "Sometimes when I'm alone, I take the pearl from where it lives in my pocket and try to remember the boy with the bread, the strong arms that warded off nightmares on the train, the kisses in the arena." (I don't own the Hunger Games!)


My hands were shaking.

Cursing to myself, I struggled to control the tremors that ran through my hands before ultimately giving up and deciding to clasp them together tightly in my lap. Beside me, Peeta lay still and silent, the slightest rise of his chest being the only indication that he was still alive.

I had been sitting in our bedroom for what seemed like days, although I knew that it had only been a few hours since I had slipped in and collapsed on the overstuffed armchair in the corner. Peeta was asleep when I entered. He was asleep when Annie and her son arrived at our house. He was asleep when I found the motivation to drag the armchair to my current spot beside the bed in hopes that my presence would give him strength to wake up before he was gone forever.

He was asleep now.

Somewhere beyond the walls of the room, I could barely make out the hushed whispers of our children, both of them now fully grown with children of their own. There was a brief pang of sadness when I thought of my grandchildren. While I was a grouchy, untouchable grandmother, my husband cheerfully played with the little ones like he did when our children were younger.

Finnick's son was undoubtedly outside the doorway with Annie, listening in to assure that I wouldn't break down emotionally or break anything physically. This last part, I knew was part of the reason why they came to our house in the first place. I had heard the rumors around town that without the Boy with the Bread, the Girl on Fire would be extinguished. That there would be nothing to tame my rebellious flames once my husband was gone.

I didn't know what was worse— the idea that people thought I was nothing without Peeta, or the fact that it was true. Even after all these years, I was still plagued with endless flashbacks of Rue and Finnick, and all of the people that died in the rebellion. I was still haunted by an image of my sister's blonde hair and willowy figure that had etched itself permanently into my brain so I would never forget her. I could even picture the malicious tint in Cato's eyes that soon faded into misery.

Peeta, who was still destroyed in his own way, always managed to soothe my screams. He constantly reminded me of the good things in life, like Finnick's son, who had grown up to be a painfully, splitting image of his deceased father. I survived the past 60 years because of the comforting way his strong arms wrapped protectively around my waist. During the past few months, when Peeta's light began to fade, I had found myself lost in a dark haze of distress. The rumors were right. Without Peeta to guide the way through my twisted nightmares, I would be nothing but another lonely soul tormented by the Games.

"Katniss?"

My heart leapt straight into my throat at the unexpected voice. I had been so engrossed in my own thoughts that I hadn't noticed my husband awakening from his period of rest.

"Peeta!" I grasped one of his hands in both of mine and gazed into his eyes. The bright blue hue was the only part of him that hadn't been touched by old age. They lovingly blinked up at me as the rest of him continued to fade.

"Hey," he whispered.

"How do you feel?" I whispered back, unable to resist a small smile at the low rumble of his comforting voice.

"Like I'm about to die." He chuckled, the laugh leading into a bought of coughing as I glared at him. "Kidding. Just really tired."

I observed his face, noticing the deep creases along his forehead and shadows that danced under his eyes. Peeta looked tired, perhaps a little _too_ tired, as if death had already taken its toll and left this empty shell of a man behind.

"Do you want to sleep some more?" I pushed the armchair back to make room as I arose from my seat. "I can come back later."

"Katniss." He held tight to my hands. "We both know there won't _be_ a later."

"Peeta…"

"Come here." I held back the tears that were welling up in my eyes as Peeta struggled to scoot over on our bed. When he had shifted enough to make space, I climbed onto the sheets and curled up beside him.

I pressed my ear against his chest, breathing in his familiar smell as I listened to the slow but steady rhythm of his heart that had gotten me through a countless amount of nights. Peeta wrapped his arms around my shaking body, filling me with the sense of comfort and warmth that only my husband could give me.

"I love you." He whispered, barely audible even in the silence of the room. I felt a tear escape and trickle down my cheek.

"I love you too." I whispered back, unsure if he heard me or not. I shifted slightly so that my head rested in the crook between Peeta's neck and shoulder.

"Do you remember the first time you asked me to stay with you?"

"How could I forget?" I felt more tears dampening my cheeks.

"Just know that I will never leave you." He murmured softly, his frail fingers toying with the ends of my hair. "Or our kids. Or our grandkids. Can you believe that we're grandparents and now I'm..."

"Shh," I gently cut him off. "I know."

We stayed that way for what seemed like eternity, the two of us holding tightly to each other. Both of us were unwilling to be the first to let go. I could feel him fading faster and faster until it was only his blue eyes and his love that enveloped me that were left.

"Peeta?" I whispered.

"Hmm?" His heart beat was slowing.

"Stay with me."

My request was small, simple, yet I knew that for the first and last time, my husband wouldn't be able to fulfill it. I looked up at him, meeting his blue eyes for the final time. He smiled down at me as he faded away.

"Always."

* * *

The funeral was bigger than I had wanted it to be, but I thanked everyone for their condolences anyway. Their flowers and prayers meant nothing to me as I sat numbly in the drizzling rain, hearing lightning crackle in the background while I greeted people I had never met.

When everyone, even my children, had gone away, I remained, sitting before the tombstone, as rain plastered my hair to my face.

I fingered the name on the grave with one hand. In the other, I rolled a pearl, which had long since lost its shiny exterior, between my fingers.

"Always," I murmured.

 _Always_.


End file.
